The new Beauxbaton Professor
by noriboriman
Summary: A fiction about Gabrielle and Harry, some HarryHermione. Please read and review
1. Chapter 1

This is a new experimental story I am trying to develop. Please read and review.

* * *

Gabrielle Delacour could not forget those emerald eyes she had seen during the time of her capture by the mer-folk. She has been staring at nowhere outside her window now, seemingly like forever. 

Gabrielle sighed. She had been sighing all day, dreaming about her handsome prince. Along with him on many adventures.

She would always be some damsel in distress, he would always overcome all obstacles, fight his way towards saving her.

He would then succeed, and then carry her off towards the setting sun with only each other for company.

She sighed again.

"Oh, Harry," she thought.

* * *

Harry Potter sneezed. He instantly wiped his nose on his handkerchief and stowed it on his jacket pocket. 

He looked at his gold watch, midnight. "It's Ron's turn," he thought.

He got up, bundling the blanket over himself. He had been sitting on the log for three hours, and yet he felt that he had been watching the snowy landscape like forever.

Dusting his clothes outside the tent, he looked for the last time at the oppressing weather. It had been snowing since six that evening, and yet the weather had not since abated.

Harry sighed. Their business with Voldemort's Horcruxes have come to this, their hunt for the soul receptacles have not been favorable for them.

Ever since Dumbledore died, all the responsibility of finishing off the Dark Lord have weighed more heavily on Harry's shoulders.

He sighed again, then entered the tent.

He found Ron sleeping on the top bunk, while Hermione was smiling lazily at Harry.

"Hi Harry," she said, twirling a lock of her hair around her index finger.

Harry gulped. Hermione had been flirting with him ever since they have gone on their quest. She had been doing it to him, well not when Ron was around.

Harry proceeded towards the bunks to wake Ron up.

"Ron, wake up. It's your watch," Harry said.

Harry suddenly felt hands over his lower limbs. Shivering slightly, he proceeded on waking Ron up.

"RON!"

"Huh! I'm up," Ron said, sitting up on the bunk.

"It's your turn to watch," Harry said, the hands slowly making their way up to his thighs.

"Yes, yes," mumbled Ron, proceeding to put on his clothes.

"Remember, stay alert. At three, wake me up," Harry said.

"Yeah, sure."

Ron grabbed his wand and some blankets, yawned and stretched a little, and then went outside mumbling about his beautiful, yet interrupted sleep, and how cold it is.

After Ron had gone out of the tent, Hermione attacked Harry's lips. They had been careful with their trysts, especially whenever Ron was around.

"I have missed this," said Hermione after some time. She was cuddled in Harry's arms, a small smile playing on her lips. Harry's hand was stroking her arm, they were both naked and only sharing a blanket.

Harry sighed, "Hermione, must we always be like this?"

Hermione looked at him curiously, "Why?"

"Could we just tell Ron all about it?"

"How do you think he would react to all of this?"

"I don't know," shrugged Harry.

"Well, there you go," said Hermione.

Harry sighed again, "Okay, you win. We'll tell him whenever you think it is time to do it."

Hermione smiled, "Of course, Harry."

She kissed him again on the lips, and scrounged around for her clothes. Harry proceeded to drift off to sleep.

"YOU AND HARRY!"

Harry awoke with a start. He scrounged for his glasses and slamming them to his face. Just in time to see a fist coming towards him. With his Quidditch reflexes, he dodged the fist and bringing his right fist upward into an upper cut, catching the would-be assailant on the chin.

"RON!" shouted Hermione. She hurried towards the bunk, attempting to help Ron, who was recovering on the floor. Ron waved her away, grabbed his wand, and went out of the tent.

Harry was about to go after him, when he remembered he was naked. There was a sharp crack outside, indicating someone just Disapparated, or someone Apparated.

Hermione had been outside the whole time, and she came in crying.

"He's gone, isn't he," asked Harry, one leg inside his pants.

Hermione nodded, sitting down by the table.

Harry finished dressing up, and went to her. He hugged her and calmed her down, uttering soothing sounds and stroking her back. After a while, he and Hermione packed their things and then went on to their journey.


	2. Chapter I: The Arrival

This is a new experimental story I am trying to develop. Please read and review.

* * *

_Five years passed_

Gabrielle Delacour was in her sixth year in the Beauxbaton Academie. She was sitting by her seat by the window, the view failing to capture the girl's attention.

Gabrielle sighed. It was just the start of the new term, and she was already bored. Their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor has retired just last year, and rumours were flying that a wizard was going to teach them this year.

Gabrielle sighed again. She only knew that few wizards today were allowed to teach at Beauxbaton, in has become a sort of a tradition for the school to hire only witches to teach. Whoever wizard that would teach them this year is either influential, or is really well-connected in their society.

As door of their classroom opened, the din of the talking of the students was silenced.

Gabrielle gasped despite herself. Here he is, the wizard she had been dreaming of since she was rescued by him. Their new professor was Harry Potter.

Harry was wearing Muggle clothes; black tees, jeans, an assortment of bracelets, sneakers, and a dragon's fang earring. His perpetually unkept hair is still like its normal length, although more sleeked back due to years of Quidditch.

Gabrielle remembered that Fleur said Harry joined the Auror division in the British Ministry of Magic, and before that was the Seeker for the English National Quidditch Team, often clashing with Viktor Krum of Bulgaria whenever they would face off in the Quidditch World Cup.

In a matter of five years, he has become the most sought-after wizard in the whole world. But, why is that he is here in Beauxbaton, teaching a class of French students Defence Against the Dark Arts?

Gabrielle intended to find out later after her classes, as she listened to Harry introduce himself.

"My name is Harry Potter, former Quidditch player, and most recently former Ministry official."

The students in Gabrielle's class were hanging on Harry's every word, a celebrity was going to teach them how to do magic. Gabrielle glanced at her classmates, and smiled a little. Almost everybody was oggling at Harry Potter.

"I have decided to teach here because of the request of one of my friends. And I would teach you how to use magic in the protection of yourselves and the safety of others as well."

The class finished rather uneventfully than Gabrielle had hoped it would be. The day was full of lectures about different incantations, its uses and other what-nots. She had been hoping for some hands-on demonstration, but was disappointed.

When the bell rang to signal the end of the class, Gabrielle stayed longer than was usually her pace. However, some of her female classmates were also doing it. Harry was fixing his stuff and was about to go when he was stopped by said female population who opted to stay a while, asking for tips about this subject, autographs, and other trifle things he may or may not know of.

"Monsieur, I would love to have an autograph."

"Please Monsieur, allow me to have an extra class with you. I am a slow learner."

"Monsieur..."

"Monsieur..."

"Harry."

Harry looked around at that silky voice. He last heard during Bill and Fleur's wedding almost five years.

"Gabrielle, how are you?"

"Come meet me somewhere later, Harry. I'll owl you." Gabrielle waved at him, smiling before she disappeared from the doorway.

The gathered females' faces show detest at her retreating back, but she does not care. She could not help but smile, Harry would be near her throughout her school year. Later, her friends would say there is a bounce in her steps, and a haunting smile on her lips. Gabrielle only knew the happiness welling inside of her, and the reason for that happiness is right here with her.

* * *

this is the end for now. please review and send me messages, i'll be waiting. 


	3. Chapter II: The Past

Please read and review. This is something I thought you people would like.Enjoy!

* * *

Gabrielle did not know what to do. Having prepared herself a very romantic dinner for two, picking out the right wine to please and heighten the senses, and sorting the right themes for the night was tedious even for someone like her who is half-Veela. However, everything was nothing, for she felt only elation at thinking the time she would be spending with Harry Potter. Until it arrived. 

She was preparing the dinner then, softly humming a little French tune to herself as she was doing it, when a soft tapping on her window caught her attention.

It was the owl she had sent with her invitation. Giddy with anticipation, she opened the window and let the owl in. Untying the message, she stopped suddenly.

The invitation was unopened, the seal was untouched.

Dropping the letter from her shaking hands, she did not feel the the tears making their way down her cheeks.

* * *

Harry was a bit uneasy. It was not easy to have just rejected Gabrielle's invitation, however he thought it would be for the best. He was not ready for anything at the moment, he was still wallowing in his grief for the people he had lost in the previous war. 

Lifting the bottle of Ogden's Firewhisky, he stared at towards nothing before drinking the last of its contents.

He felt tears streaming down his face as he remembers the time that he had lost Hermione from Voldemort.

_It was supposed to have been just between the two of them, Harry finally facing off with Voldemort in a final showdown that would determine the very fate of the world. They were in Hogwarts, for Voldemort and his Death Eaters have taken the fight to the castle.  
_

_Harry had taken a lot of injuries from different adversaries, his left arm hanging limply at his side. Blood was flowing from a wound just above his left eyebrow, obscuring a little of his vision. He had earlier lost his wand during the fight, and had to make do with a wand he had taken from Draco Malfoy.  
_

_"So, Harry, it goes down to this," said Voldemort, sporting numerous cuts and bruises._

_"Yes, Tom," Harry said quietly._

_"Don't you dare!" Voldemort hissed, raising his wand to point at Harry._

_"Dare what? Call you by your proper name, eh Tom."_

_Voldemort hissed, his slit-like nostrils flaring in anger. Harry raised his wand, his grip tightening around the wood._

_"You forget, I still hold the Elder Wand," said Voldemort._

_"And I can do whatever I want with it."_

_With a flick of his wrist, Voldemort targeted a girl on his right, Hermione. _

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

_"No!" Harry's shouted, seeing Hermione's body going limp and falling on the marble floor._

_Voldemort laughed, a very hollow laughter. He raised his wand again and pointed at Harry._

_"So it ends, Potter."_

_With murder in his eyes, Harry took every ounce of his strength and casted a spell._

_"Expelliarmus!"_

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

_As both spells collide in midair, the red bolt from Harry's ricocheted off towards the wall, the Elder Wand along with it. Voldemort's green bolt bounced back towards him, backfiring and killing the Dark Lord. And thus the battle ended, however it was not a thoroughly happy occasion. Many have died, including Hermione._

_Harry had been cradling her dead body in his arms, never letting go and howling in pain. He had never felt such pain in his entire life._

Harry awoke with a start, an empty bottle rolling from his hand. Sunlight was already filtering through a crack on his curtains, by the looks of it, it was about noon.

"Good thing I have to teach only an afternoon class for today," he thought.

"I better have to go to it."

He tried to get up, but something is impeding his action. A hand was splayed across his chest, and it belongs to Gabrielle Delacour.

* * *

this is the end for now. please review and send me messages, i'll be waiting. 


	4. insert

sorry guys, cannot keep up with both work and writing...

i'll make it up to you people by writing a new chapter in two weeks time. thanks for your support in my writing...

special shoutout to ricky, thanks for recommending jeconais' website...

peealasbut, thanks for your comments...

please send me more messages and/or comments so that i can cater to many more of you people... XP


	5. Chapter III: The Hand

another chapter for this story... sorry for the delay, folks... XP

* * *

Harry opened his eyes, and scanned his room. He took in the blurry and dingy surroundings, however not properly processing what to do about it. He clutched at his head, it was painfully throbbing. 

"AH!" his pain almost making him see blurry colors.

He took a deep breath, a strong putrid odor invaded his senses. He almost gagged, he almost vomit.

"Shit," he said to himself, trying to get up. After a while, he sat up. He had slept again on his couch,and that was not good for his back.

Groaning as he got up, he almost fell back on the couch, having stepped on something that made him lose his balance.

"The floor's slippery?" he thought, as he bent down to examine it.

"Where are my glasses?" groping for his glasses by the coffee table, he put on and went back to peering at the floor.

Empty bottles of Ogden's Firewhiskey littered his living room floor.

"So much for the living part," he thought, chuckling to himself. He clutched his head, the throbbing pain had somehow dissipated minutely.

He tried to stand up again, tried but failed.

"So much for trying to get up," he thought.

As he sat on the couch, he tried to remember why he was trying to get up. It had been really important at that time.

He suddenly remembered when bitter bile began to rise up his esophagus.

He did not make it to the kitchen, he vomited on the way. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he stared at it splattered on the floor.

"Like a Death Eater's brains when we had stormed Tom Riddle's hideout," he said, turning away as memories flooded his senses.

* * *

_Harry had led a selected team from the Order and from DA in a deciding match against Voldemort. For the past three months as Voldemort terrorized Europe, Harry and the rest of the people against him was fighting, openly or otherwise._

_Harry himself had been part of various sweeping expeditions to eradicate the Death Eater cells that mushroomed after Voldemort returned to power. He and his two bestfriends had always been together, (Ron has finally accepted the fact that Harry and Hermione are now officially seeing each other), and they had always worked as a team in pursuing these missions._

_It was on a moonless night that Harry and the others deemed it time to end all the conflicts that had gripped Europe, to rid the world one spiteful and power-hungry maniac once and for all._

_Voldemort had holed up at Hogwarts, taking control over it by installing Severus Snape as Headmaster of the school. It had been a very bad decision for his part._

_Thinking that Snape had been his spy in the Order, Voldemort did not realize the former's hidden agenda._

_Snape had let the opposition into Hogwarts, opening the doors on the unaware Death Eaters._

_It had been messy, Harry had seen so much blood that it had been common for him to always see it and not cringe at the very sight of it._

_Ron had fell by the gate, trying to protect his sister from a Death Eater. Harry had just moved on, for the death of loved ones seems to have taken into consideration for his part._

_It was not until he faced Voldemort that he realized the true sense of anger, resentment, and extreme loss when Voldemort had finished Hermione's life before him._

_"So it ends, Potter."_

_With murder in his eyes, Harry took every ounce of his strength and casted a spell._

_"Expelliarmus!"_

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

_As both spells collide in midair, the red bolt from Harry's ricocheted off towards the wall, the Elder Wand along with it. Voldemort's green bolt bounced back towards him, backfiring and killing the Dark Lord._

* * *

He had cradled her lifeless body in his arms, his voice hoarse and cracked from crying and screaming in agony. He still remembers, not a day passes that he does not. 

He clutched at his head, the firewhiskey's effect wearing off and hangover settles in. His legs were still wobbly, almost jelly-like.

As he approached the couch, he stumbled, almost hitting the small table. He managed to get to it and lie down. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Gabrielle had been pacing her room for the past hour. Her dinner date had to be cancelled because of him. Harry had not wanted to go, wanting instead to be on his own. At least, that was what she thought. 

She sat down on her bed, twirling her fingers around each other. She got back up, resuming to pace the floorspace of her room, while biting her fingernails.

"This can't be right," she thought to herself.

She went out of the door to confront Harry.

* * *

She did not know what she would tell him. She had been pacing outside his door, thinking what she would tell him. She had no problem in entering his room, she had gotten the password from the Headmistress since she was a Head Girl.

She had been contemplating what she would say to him when she heard a crash on the other side.

Saying the password, the door had not yet fully opened when she dashed inside.

The stench inside was unbearable, the weekend's air still hung in the air. Empty bottles of alcohol littered the floor space of the modest living room.

"So much for living," she muttered under her breath, looking at her surroundings.

She saw Harry on the floor, covered in sweat and the his indigested dinner. Gabrielle was about to puke, the acrid stench of alcohol, vomit and heavy sweat swirled around her.

As she made her way to Harry, avoiding the littered bottles and occasional pockets of still fresh vomit, she made a mental list of what she would be doing after she had taken care of Harry first.

Gabrielle knelt beside him, her fingers tracing his hair and jaw line. Glistening sweat clung to her fingertips, sticky and thick.

He began to stir, moaning as he came to.

Placing a firm hand on his chest, Gabrielle stopped him from standing up.

Feeling an opposing force as he tries to get up, Harry opened his eyes and saw Gabrielle holding him down.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice coarse and scratchy.

"To help you," was the reply.

* * *

sorry guys, this is really, really, really, really late... i'm sorry it came out far too long for me... hope you read and review, so i can work on it more effectively... see you soon... XP 


	6. Chapter IV: The Flashback

another chapter for this story... sorry for the delay, folks... XP

* * *

Gabrielle was frightened. She had joined the Beauxbaton contingent for TriWizard Tournament, for she was a Delacour, and everybody knows Delacours get their way. She had been an excited little girl, going off to a foreign land where she barely knew the language.

She had prepared herself for the journey, she even threw a fit when she learned that only the seventh years in Beauxbaton were going. She was further incensed upon learning that her older sister, Fleur, was among them.

"Maman, I want to go, too," she screamed, sitting on the floor and thrashing about.

The family was in her bedroom, dissuading the youngster to give up on her intention of "accompanying" her sister to England.

"But, Gabrielle...," began her mother.

Gabrielle continued her thrashing. Her father was looking a little annoyed, and amused at the same time. Her sister was unmindful of her tantrums, deeming herself as immune for having been most exposed to it having grown up together.

"But I want to go, too. I want to, I want to."

"There, there, dear. Please be an angel and obey your father when he says you are not to go," said her mother, sitting on the floor,and trying to appease the girl.

Gabrielle wailed, she wanted to accompany her older sister, what was wrong in that? In her young mind, Gabrielle was outcasted, her parents only tolerates her existence because of Fleur.

Her older sister Fleur, one of the exemplary students of Beauxbaton, traveling to the United Kingdom to meet with other schools for the title of TriWizard Champion.

Her older sister who was always favoured by their parents. It was always Fleur this, Fleur that. Fleur did this magnificent thing, our beautiful and talented daughter Fleur.

Gabrielle hated and loved her older sister rather fiercely. She wanted to be like Fleur in many ways, or better yet surpass her in various ways.

That is why Gabrielle insisted on accompanying the Beauxbaton contingent to the United Kingdom.

"Please, Maman!" Gabrielle wailed, tears welling at her eyes.

Her mother sighed, and looked at her father. Monsieur Delacour shrugged, and promptly left the room.

The next day, Gabrielle learns that she could accompany her older sister, provided she do not do anything foolish.

Gabrielle let out a whoop of joy, she was going out of the country for the very first time in her life.

* * *

The night before they were to embark to the United Kingdom, Gabrielle's parents were talking with her sister Fleur in their drawing room. Gabrielle was going towards the bathroom, when she noticed light coming from a crack at the door. Being curious, she crept towards it and listened.

"Now Fleur, be a good girl and show everybody your good side. This is an international gathering after all, and we would like France to be on top of everybody's list," said her father.

"Yes, Papa," answered Fleur. "Everything would be to your satisfaction."

"Take care of your sister, Gabby," said her mother.

"Yes, Maman."

"and one more thing Fleur," her father said. "Befriend Harry Potter."

"Harry Potter?"

"Yes, it would look good on our family's reputation if you personally knew the Saviour-of-the-Wizarding-World."

"Yes, Papa."

Gabrielle did not listen anymore to their talking, since they were only giving Fleur advises on how to further their family into the Wizarding community. She proceeded to walk towards her supposed to be destination.

Upon returning, she found Fleur packing her things into a leather case.

"I can do that," Gabrielle blurted out, shooing her older sister away.

Fleur only smiled and watched as her younger sister continued the packing.

"Fleur," called Gabrielle.

"Yes, Gabby."

"Who is Harry Potter?"

"Where did you hear that name?"

"A while ago, as I was going to the toilette, I overheard it as a passed by the drawing room."

Fleur closed her eyes. "He is said to have defeated He-who-must-not-be-named when he was just a mere baby."

Gabrielle gulped. "Really?"

"That is why we should try to be friendly to him."

"So our families would be seen as stronger?"

Fleur laughed. "Yes, it can be that way, too."

Gabrielle's brows knotted together as her older sister continued to laugh. She could not comprehend how a baby defeated the most fearsome wizard since Grindelwald.

"If this Harry Potter as powerful as they say," Gabrielle thought. "Our family should really befriend him."

* * *

The castle was ugly, and old. Hogwarts must really have been left behind in terms of art and architecture. Gabrielle shuddered closer to her sister as they stepped out of their carriage.

They have finally arrived at their destination. Hogwarts Castle rose imposing by a lush forest.

"It looks dreadful," a student said.

"Quiet," said Madame Maxime.

As the group huddled together, a funny-looking man struggled running towards them. He was Argus Filch, the Hogwarts caretaker.

Upon his arrival, he bowed deeply towards Madame Maxime. He was still out of breath since his running, and Gabrielle chuckled in her hand.

Fleur looked at her sharply, her eyes betraying the humour she was trying to suppress.

"Madame Maxime, the Headmaster would like me to escort your group up to the castle. If you would follow me, please."

The Beauxbaton contingent followed the caretaker, their curious eyes taking in the castle and her grounds.

As the outside suggested, the inside of the castle also features medieval architecture. Statues of four people flanked the two sides of the hall, two males at the right and two females at the left.

The four people were accompanied by animals; the males were with a lion for the handsome one, a snake for his equally evil-looking companion. The females were accompanied by a badger for the more matronly of the pair, and an eagle for the more regal one.

The Beauxbaton students were in awe of the sheer magnificence of the statues.

"This is the door towards the Great Hall," said Argus Filch as they arrived at a giant door. "This is as far as I accompany you and your companions, Madame Maxime."

"Thank you, Mr. Filch."

"It was an honour," the man answered, bowing again.

He run away, towards the gate. Loud splashing sounds could be heard from that direction.

"Monsieur Karkaroff must have arrived," said Madame Maxime, looking towards the gate.

She turned around and addressed her companions.

"Let us go and present ourselves, my dears."

"Oui, Madame," answered the students.

As one, the opened the door to the Great Hall.

* * *

sorry guys, this is really, really, really, really late... i'm sorry it came out far too long for me... hope you read and review, so i can work on it more effectively... see you soon... XP


	7. Chapter V: The Beginning

_ look into how it all began... A/N how Harry got into Beauxbaton_

* * *

Madame Olympe Maxime was to retire in lieu of her upcoming marriage to one Rubeus Hagrid. Ever since their love affair in 1994, during the well-documented revival of the TriWizard Tournament, they had been corresponding with each other through owls and seeing each other during holidays.

It was not long, almost three years ago, that they thought of moving in together. It posed as a problem for them, since Madame Maxime is Beauxbatons Headmistress, and Hagrid was Hogwarts' gamekeeper. So it really surprised her that Hagrid sacrificed his job as gamekeeper to come and live with her.

It was really blissful for them, their relationship had blossomed so far. Hagrid got another work when he moved, he became keeper of the grounds at a prestigious wizarding institution, having the recommendation of one of the most famous wizards at the time, Harry Potter.

Madame Maxime had always thought that their relationship would never move on, that the two of them would always stay as just living together. So it came as a surprise one day when at a fancy dinner made by Hagrid, he proposed to her.

"What did you say!?" she exclaimed.

"Ya 'erd me, Olympe. I want ter marry you," said Hagrid. He drew from his pocket a gold ring. He approached her and knelt by her side.

"Olympe, will ya marry me?"

"Oh, oui!"

The both of them had been crying for like eternity, happily grasping each other in their arms.

Madame Maxime smiled as she remembered it. She sighed and turned back to what she was doing. Since she was to retire, she was trying to finish her paperwork as not to burden the next Headmistress.

Madame Maxime had personally endorsed the new Headmistress, Madame Sophia Étoile, a half-Veela. Madame Étoile is the former instructor in Histoire Magique française, and is most capable of all the candidates for the position. She, as her predecessor, was rather strict in upholding the school's policy. Although, whereas Madame Maxime would show leniency once in a while, The Madame, as she was called behind her back, was like an army enforcer in her disciplinary actions. Behind the façade however, lurked the motherly affections she has for her students and staff. Madame Maxime knew that Madame Étoile be a great Headmistress for Beauxbaton.

Madame Maxime was about to finish the last of the paperwork for the upcoming academic year when a knock on her door was heard.

"Come in," she said, arranging the scattered papers and other documents on her desk.

A woman entered, she was carrying a letter. She was stood erect, which emphasized her height; her white hair was caught in a tight bun. The deep wrinkles on her face denotes her age, as the parchment-like skin on her hands do too. She purposely walked towards Madame Maxime, her face set in an inexplicable scowl.

"Ah, Madame Gardien," Madame Maxime addressed the other woman.

"Headmistress," Madame Gardien nodded curtly. She handed the letter to the Headmistress. "My retirement letter."

Madame Maxime stiffly received the letter. Madame Gardien was her best teacher in Beauxbaton, she teaches the Defense Against the Dark Arts. Madame Maxime is now faced with a terrible dilemma.

* * *

"So, who do you zuggest I should place in that post?" Madame Maxime asked her husband, Rubeus Hagrid. They were busy unpacking their things in their new home. After marrying at a simple ceremony with only close friends and family in attendance, they decided to find their new home in the French countryside. Hagrid would be planting a vineyard and hunt game to support them. Madame Maxime was also confident because of her savings at the French wizarding bank.

"I think ya should hire someone ya think is best. Someone like fer example Harry," Hagrid said, carrying a suspiciously-looking large wooden crate.

"'Agrid, what iz that?"

"Er,... nuthin'."

"Rubeus 'Agrid, what iz in that crate?!"

Hagrid stammered incoherently, "Er,... um... er..."

"I zuggest you take it back where _that_ came from, thiz inztanse!"

Hagrid walked away defeated, carrying the crate outside. Madame Maxime contemplated on what Hagird said, as she continued her unpacking.

* * *

"But, Madame..."

"I am truly behind this appointment," the Headmistress said. "He is _the_ most capable."

The gathered professors of Beauxbaton were all seated in a rectangular table, whispering amongst themselves. At the head of the table sat the Headmistress, and she was quiet. So were the two women on her immediate right and left.

The woman to the Headmistress' left was the retiree Madame Gardien, who looked at everybody with her distinctive scowl. She had accepted the appointment made by the Headmistress, she saw no fault in it.

The woman opposite Madame Gardien looked not a day old of thirty, with straight platinum blonde hair caught in a loose bun and tendrils of hair framing her face accenting her almost metallic blue eyes. She was studying the paper in front of her, her right hand twirling a quill between her fingers.

Madame Maxime turned to look at her. She regarded the other woman as she would an exquisite flower, she watched as the other's fingers toyed with the quill and parchment in front of her.

The whispers became louder, arguments came leaping in every direction. It was pandemonium in the room.

The willowy woman held her hand upwards, and the voices died down.

"Maybe it would be better if we would accept this proposition from the Headmistress, as a request," the silky voice that said those words were not lost on everyone.

One by one, each of the professors in Beauxbaton nodded their assent.

* * *

He arrived just in time for the ceremony for the induction of the new Headmistress. He came by carriage ordered by Madame Maxime, to refuse such a gesture would seem rude. Besides, he thinks of her as a friend.

He carried inside his trunk, his leather jacket's hood still covering his head and face. A phoenix sat on his right shoulder, calmly appraising its master's actions.

"Bonjour, monsieur," greeted an aged man, who came shuffling along. His wrinkled skin was like dry parchment, and his back is slightly bent.

"Bonjour," the new arrival answered back. He lifted his suitcase and asked, "Where would my room be, uh, monsieur-"

"Clés, Valentin Clés. I am the caretaker of this school. I'll take that, young sir," with it he almost grabbed the trunk, however the trunk was wisked away by the visitor. The caretaker smiled.

"Pardon, monsieur," said the young man. "Would you escort me into my quarters, please."

"Of course, sir," answered the aged man. "Your suite is upstairs, young sir."

He glanced at the phoenix at the other's shoulder as they walked towards their destination, "What a lovely bird, is it your's?"

"Yes, an old friend gave him to me. He died a long time ago."

"Really, and what is the bird's name, if you do not mind my asking?"

The young man stroked the bird's chest and smiled, "His name is Fawkes."

* * *

this latest, (and I mean _late_), took much effort since I do not know how to speak French... please read and review, since comments, suggestions, and criticism are the lifeblood of a writer... thanks, until the next time...XP


	8. Chapter VI: The Meeting

_another flashback...  
_

* * *

Gabrielle Delacour was gazing at everything in awe and amazement. Hogwarts was unlike any place she had ever gone to. First, the ceiling mirrors what the weather was outside, and it amazes her to no end.

"Fleur, look," she said pointing at the lightning bolts that were leaping above. Rain was pouring from the clouds, but would dissipate long before it hits the students.

Fleur was scanning the Great Hall for somebody. She asked a student seated next to her, a Gryffindor named Ronald Weasley.

"Excusez-moi, monsieur," she asked. "Do you know 'Arry Potter?"

Ron was openly staring at her with his mouth open, and was taken aback with her question.

"Ah... erm... uhm...," he said, struggling to make an impression on the foreign girl. A dark-haired boy with emerald-green eyes turned his head towards the two and opened his mouth to speak when The Headmaster spoke first.

"Today, we welcome two noble institutions of magical learning to our humble castle. First is the Beauxbaton Academie...," said Dumbledore as he addressed the whole school about the three institutions of learning and why they were gathered together.

Gabrielle was mimicking and making faces at Dumbledore during his speech, Fleur's uncontrolled, albeit willowy laughter was heard by everybody.

After the speech given by Dumbledore, the feast began. Fleur had asked again the red-headed Gryffindor, now to pass some bouillabaisse. She was somewhat annoyed at the boy, since he was looking at her dreamily.

"Fleur, I think you have an admirer here," Gabrielle teased in French. Her older sister only nudged her with an elbow and continued to eat. However, the food is pretending to be French.

"Look, Fleur, he is still looking at you," Gabrielle giggled.

Fleur looked at the boy again and answered her sister, "He would never become a part of life, ever. After this tournament, I will not see him ever again."

Gabrielle just shrugged, her eyes wandering as she ate.

_The students are fascinating_, she thought, as she scanned everybody. When she scanned the Gryffindor table, she saw a dark-haired boy with beautiful emerald-green eyes turn towards her. She swore to herself that she have never seen so beautiful eyes before.

* * *

"So, what do you think of Hogwarts?" Madame Maxime asked her student, Fleur Delacour. They were already settled in and were about to sleep, having been given rooms in Ravenclaw Tower by Professor Dumbledore. They were sitting on the bed assigned to Fleur and her sister. Madame Maxime was sitting on a conjured chair, facing her best student.

Fleur crinkled her nose, "They are not what I thought they were going to be."

"You just got yourself a new boyfriend. Are you breaking off with Edmund?" interjected Gabrielle, giggling to herself.

Fleur shot her an angry stare and went away, her arms crossed and her chin high. Gabrielle giggled again, trying to cover face with her blanket.

"Now, now," said Madame Maxime to the two. Fleur came back to the bed, Gabrielle was still giggling.

"Stop it!" said Fleur at her sister. She threw a pillow at Gabrielle, who could not duck in time.

"Ladies, stop this foolishness this instance," Madame Maxime's stern voice brought the girl's pillow fight to a stop. "Fleur and Gabrielle, the two of you are not supposed to do that here. We are visitors, and we should be modest in our dealings with these people. Or they would say something that would and could damage the reputation of our school."

The sisters were quiet, the Headmistress' words were sinking into their minds.

After a while, the Headmistress said goodnight to the both of them and promptly left the room.

"Fleur," Gabrielle broke the silence first.

"Yes, Gabby."

"Today, I saw this boy with beautiful emerald-green eyes. They were glittering, and I thought I could be lost just staring at those pools of green. It was unexplainable."

Fleur laughed, "Now, Gabby. I think you are the one who has a boyfriend here."

Gabrielle elbowed her sister and covered herself with the blanket. Two hours after, and she still could not sleep, thinking about those eyes that seem to speak to her.

* * *

"But, Dumbledore..."

"I am not truly aware of how it has happened," the Headmaster of Hogwarts said. "He _may_ have asked someone to put _his_ name in the Goblet."

The gathered professors and other officials of the TriWizard Tournament were all discussing the recent turn of events. Instead of three wizards as competitors, there would be four, two from Hogwarts. They looked at the last competitor whose name was given by the Goblet: Harry Potter.

"We will let him compete," announced Bartemius Crouch, Sr. He intently looked at the youth, and said, "Be warned, Mister Potter. These tasks are very dangerous, you might get killed if you are not too careful."

* * *

Fleur banged the door open as she came inside. Gabrielle, who was sitting on the bed playing with her doll, stiffened at the crash, her eyes wide. Fleur was never _this_ angry.

Madame Maxime entered just behind Fleur, her face grim and brooding. Gabrielle knew there was something wrong, for this is the first time she had seen the two of them like this.

"Merde," Madame Maxime was the first to break the tense silence.

"This is not right! That little boy should not even compete, for he _is_ under-age and he cheated! He cheated!" cried Fleur.

Gabrielle looked on her sister ranting about the unfairness of it all. She watched as Madame Maxime tried to calm Fleur down and herself as well.

"That little boy should not have been allowed to enter into the competition. He could ruin everything for Beauxbaton," said Madame Maxime quietly, as if she was talking to herself.

"That dratty boy!" said Fleur, whining herself all over the place.

"Calm down, Fleur," coaxed her sister. "Who is not supposed to be, but is, in the competition."

"Harry Potter."

* * *

until next time... XP


	9. Chapter VII: The Class

_this is late, i know... it just kicked me in the head, and i had the audacity to write it... please, i beg of you, please read and review... thanks... XP  
_

* * *

"Gabrielle?"

"Yes, it is me."

"Why are you... How did... Where...?"

"Ssshh, don't talk. Don't move, I'm here to help you."

Gabrielle Delacour stood up, her hand removed from his chest. She picked up a turned-over box and promptly put the littered bottles of firewhiskey in it.

Harry, his glasses now on his face, watched her. His head was still reeling, so he closed his eyes and lay back down.

Gabrielle glanced at him, she smiled.

Harry started to massage his forehead and temples.

"Would you like some tea?"

Harry opened his eyes to see Gabrielle leaning over him. He stared at her deep blue eyes and just nodded.

Gabrielle walked away carrying the box, adding the littered clothes as she made her way towards the kitchen.

"_Tergeo_," she said, her wand pointing at the occassional pockets of vomit on the floor, and those on the clothes.

Harry watched her as she cleaned his rooms. _She's such a good person_, he thought. She turned towards him and smiled. He blushed and promptly turned away from her.

Gabrielle stifled a laugh, _Harry's so cute_. She hummed to herself as she prepared his tea.

"Here you are," she said, carrying a tray laden with many things. "I don't know how to make your tea, so I brought everything to you."

She laid it down on the now unclattered coffee table. Harry sat up from his place on the couch.

"Ah, tea."

"Be careful, it's hot."

"Okay."

Harry took a sip, and then massaged his temples again. Gabrielle continued to clean, humming to herself as she do it.

"You don't have to do this."

Gabrielle did not cease in her actions, "What do you mean?"

"You know, this. Cleaning, taking care of me, and everything."

"You are a professor here, you should be more conscious of yourself."

Harry sighed. Putting down the now half-empty cup, he was about to remove his black tee when he stopped.

"Don't worry, Harry. I won't bite, I promise," Gabrielle laughed. She extended her hand to take his shirt.

Harry shrugged, took off his shirt gave it to Gabrielle, and then went into the bathroom.

_He has a lot of scars_, Gabrielle thought as she watched Harry head towards the loo. _And such a chiseled body_.

Harry came out of the bathroom, and was astounded when he arrived at the living room.

"Gabrielle?" he called out. No one answered, he was alone again.

He sat down on the couch again, and tried to get something from underneath it. His hand came up empty.

"No," he groaned.

* * *

Gabrielle Delacour was quite happy, skipping along the corridors of the school towards the library. Since it was a Saturday and the term has just started, there a few students found in there.

"Um, Gabrielle?"

"Yes," she answered when she saw the person who called her. She was after all the Head Girl, the students at Beauxbaton always come to her for help. The female student that stopped her that time was named Aimee, a seventh-year.

"I am having difficulty coping with my studies with Professor Bayard," Aimee began. Professor Jeanne Bayard was the flight instructor at Beauxbaton, and her classes were legendary in their complexities.

"You wanted someone to help you with your flying lessons." Most of the sudents at Beauxbaton never enroll in flying lessons, since Professor Bayard almost always taught flying as something out of a textbook. No student would ever dare to want to fly, except those who were enrolled by their parents.

"If it was possible, yes."

"I'll see what I can do. I'm going to look for someone who would..."

"Um, I would, um, appreciate it if, you know, Professor Potter, um, would teach me."

Gabrielle's eyebrow rose up. "He's the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"I know. But, he was once the All-time Favorite English Seeker."

"I'll talk with the Headmistress," Gabrielle's eyebrow has not left its lofty position. "Until her approval, Aimee, you better practise with Professor Bayard."

With that she left the library, her skipping was replaced by a haughty walk.

* * *

Classes that Monday with Harry was strictly instructional. The students at Beauxbaton was weary because of the cold treatment that they were given by their professor, nevertheless their zeal in catching his attention was nothing less than theatrical.

"A little higher, Miss Savonierre," Harry said, as he directed a seventh-year's wand arm to the proper height. "You're not supposed to have that angle, it would be disastrous to your companion. Mister de Gaulle, please help Miss Savonierre."

Harry was teaching them the Hovering Charm, one of the many spells that have been proven useful for him during the war.

"Concentrate harder," Harry said looking around at his students. Some of them were faltering in their concentration. He could see many of his students trying to catch his attention rather than what they should be doing. And it constitute some of the male students.

Harry sighed. He was grateful that he knew someone in his first class, if not he would really be stressed out.

Gabrielle was one of the few students in Harry's class who were really concentrating on the task at hand. While most were trying means that would help them capture the attention of their professor, Gabrielle tried to impress Harry through something he would really notice.

"Very good, Miss Delacour," he said, as he saw her very much doing what he told the class.

"You too, Miss Prevoyez. Keep it up." The mentioned student blushed and apparently lost concentration, when the thing she was levitating went plop on the ground.

Only Gabrielle was able to concentrate even when Harry complemented her, much to annoyance of the other students.

After the lesson, Harry instructed his students to study more of that day's lesson.

"Apparently, none of you have ever studied the charm closely. Every spell you are taught, you should take it to heart and study it," Harry lectured the students.

"I want you to learn more about the spells you are taught, pay close attention to your Charms studies. You would never expect that the simplest of spells can also save your life."

With that, he dismissed his class. Harry stalked off towards his rooms, he got to teach only one class per day.

Upon arriving, he promptly took off the black Muggle tee he was wearing and his shoes and socks. He plopped down o the couch and closed his eyes.

* * *

_please read and review... hope you have comments... XP_


	10. Chapter VIII: The Order

**A/N: hey guys, i'm sorry i have been out of touch lately, but here is another chapter for this story... thanks for staying with me... i'm looking for a beta-reader for all my stories, any one can and may apply for the position, please... thanks... XP**

* * *

Ronald Weasley made his way towards the lift to his floor. The Ministry of Magic had been particularly more crowded this morning, almost as if there were some kind of trouble. Stopping at his floor he made his way to the Auror offices. Since the Second War, Ron had poured all of his time to his work. Picking up Death Eater stragglers have been his work so far, there are other Dark-Lord-wannabes still out there.

"Bollocks," he would say whenever he had picked one of those people, gagging their mouths before they rant on something like world domination, most powerful warlock, and You're going to regret this.

However, those days have passed. Nowadays, he would sit behind his desk, reading and analyzing reports sent to him and prepared some strategic measures for other, much younger, Aurors, who execute his plans to a near perfection. Because of ambition, these new ones would alter something, which could ruin the whole mission. But, they would be saved as new orders from Ron would arrive.

"Mr. Weasley," a woman called after him, as he absent-mindedly passed by.

"Yes, Ally," he turned towards her.

"The Minister would like you to be in his office in five minutes."

"Thanks, Ally."

Ron made his way back to the lift to go to the Minister's office. Kingsley Shacklebolt, ex-Auror, was a hero after the Second War, along with himself, and his bestfriend, Harry Potter. He was one of the most brilliant people the Aurors have ever produced.

"What in God's name is that?" Ron heard as he neared the door of the Minister's office. A witch was sorting some parchments by the table right by the door. A wizard was leafing through a copy of the Daily Prophet on a bench in front of the wooden desk. The witch beckoned for Ron to go on and enter the Minister's office. Without breaking stride, Ron made his way in.

Kingsley Shacklebolt was towering over a cowering person hidden behind a high-backed chair, his face angry and menacing. Ron coughed.

"You sent for me, Minister," he said.

"Ah, yes Weasley. Go and find Potter, I need him."

Ron was surprised. "P-Potter, sir? As in Harry Potter, sir."

Kingsley sighed, he made his way towards Ron. He clasped the latter's shoulders and said, "Unfortunately, yes."

"But, he's retired Auror, sir, begging your pardon."

"And yet, I need him. This is one of those moments where his expertise is all I can really trust."

"Yes, sir. Right away."

Ron turned and made his way out. How the bloody hell he would find Harry Potter was beyond him. As he went out of the office, he glanced at the page of the Daily Prophet. Something caught his eye. Grabbing the newspaper from a very indignant wizard, he read the article entitled: Boy-who-lived, now teaches at Beauxbaton!


	11. Chapter IX: The Dreams

**A/N: hey guys, i'm sorry i have been out of touch lately, but here is another chapter for this story... thanks for staying with me... XP**

* * *

_Sometime in Northern Europe..._

It was dark, the trees cover whatever sunlight that wishes to penetrate the silence of the woods. He was tired, but he must go on.

He was already weary thin, small cuts and bruises were evident on his torn clothes that failed to cover his lean body, proof of his laboured run inside the forest. He took his wand out and gritted his teeth. He could hear them before he saw them.

"Shit," he muttered, as he saw the hounds that accompanied the men.

"He is here somewhere," he heard the leader say, an Indian based on his accent.

A hound sniffed the air and barked at his direction. It ran ahead towards him, barking as it came, with the men following behind.

"He's here!" one of the men shouted.

He got up and faced the dogs, "Stupefy!" he shouted as the hound jumped towards him with its jaws open wide. He ran even before the animal hit the ground. Various spells were thrown at him as he ran.

"Stupefy!"

"Confringo!"

"Expelliarmus!"

"Bombarda!" one of the men shouted, sending bits of the forestry on him.

He knew if he stopped they would definitely catch him, so he ran on even when he felt his legs burning with pain. He was falling down on raised roots, broken branches and wet leaves, but still he pressed on.

"Come out," one of the men called, his breath coming out in short gasps.

"Harry Potter!" the leader called out as Harry slipped from them.

* * *

He woke up sweating on the couch, his laboured breathing finally slowing down. He stared at the ceiling for a while, trying to appease his racing heart.

He closed his eyes, as he concentrated. A breeze unlike any other surged through him, his tattoos glowing. Finally, opening his eyes, he stood up and went to the kitchen.

Opening his cupboards, he almost felt he would find his bottles of Firewhisky still standing in their rowed file, but all he found was tea, sugar, and other condiments. He sighed, got out the tea, and proceeded to the table.

He filled a small kettle with water from the faucet and put it on top of the stove. Turning the burner on, he went back in to the living room and laid on the couch and closed his eyes.

* * *

He ran on as fast as his four legs are able to. He can feel the coldness of the early morning stinging his lungs as he gasped for air. He cannot smell his pursuers now, only the scent of his blood flowing from a large gash on his back.

His emerald eyes scanned around as he slowed down, his big red tongue lolling out of his open mouth, and his black coat stained with perspiration. He stopped by a large oak tree, sitting among the growing grass and fallen acorns.

Sensing no one about, he slowly transformed in to a man. Where a wolf once sat, there now stands Harry Potter. With a hand holding on to the tree for support, he eased himself down on an overgrown root and sat down.

He was naked, and the coldness of the air sends shivers to his sweat-covered body. He groaned, as his newly-clotted wound comes in to contact with the rough bark of the tree. His joints hurt and his muscles burn, his hair is in disarray and matted from the long hours of his journey, some twigs sticking out. His face was partly covered with dark bristles of facial hair, mud cling to it.

He espied a cottage as he slowly made his way down hill. He knocked on the door, there was no answer even when he tried again.

There were clothes left hanging to dry on the clothesline, and he grabbed some form it. A coarse towel served as a temporary bandage on his back, and he found a serviceable old pair of boots by the cottage door. Pulling them on he turned away from the place, never looking back.

* * *

He woke up to the sound of whistling kettle. He jumped right up and proceeded in to the kitchen, pouring tea into a tiny cup.

He brought the tea into the living room and got some biscuits from a cupboard. He glanced at the grandfather clock at the corner, it was almost three in the afternoon.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, then shrugged, sat and had tea.

*

"He's late," muttered a boy student.

"Merde," said another, slamming his broomstick on the ground.

"What's keeping him?" asked a girl to her friend.

"I don't know. This British people are peculiar, noh," her friend answered.

Gabrielle looked worriedly towards the mansion, Harry Potter has not shown up yet for their flying lessons. When she approached the Madame about this matter, she was met with a raised eyebrow, an upward twitch at the corners of her mouth, and consent. She had then duly informed Harry about the decision.

It was to supposed to meet at half past two, however it was already three minutes past three in the afternoon. She sighed, some of the students growing restless by the minute. She would have given up after another gruelling two slow minutes when Harry appeared.

He had crumpled clothes on, a tee and a torn denim pants, his unruly hair sticking whichever way, with his signature broomstick, a Firebolt, slung on one shoulder. The students then looked somewhat excited, especially the girls.

He came to a stop in front of them and said, "I know it is rather late for our flying lessons, and since this is just a complementary lesson so the graduating students may pass in their flying lessons."

He motioned for them to mount their brooms, mounted his, and flew into the air.

"The first technique in flying is to be comfortable," he said, making loops in the air, twisting, twirling and turning.

Some of the braver students, males who wanted to impress the wide-eyed girls tried and failed in their feeble attempts. The rest of the lesson went on about flight safety, what-to-do on a broomstick, and other such things.

It was almost five in the afternoon when he stopped the lessons and taught them self-help techniques to practise about flying. When the bell rang at five, he dismissed the students and went immediately inside the mansion.

The students chattered about the lesson that afternoon, while Gabrielle only looked a bit concerned at Harry as he made his way inside.

* * *

**a past time activity... until another time...**


	12. Chapter X: The Secret

Ronald Weasley, one of the high ranking Aurors of the British Ministry for Magic, sat rather oddly in a waiting room. He was sitting ramrod on the wooden chair, staring blankly at the portrait of the current Headmistress of Beauxbaton Academie. His trench coat hung on the wooden coat stand by the secretary's desk, who was eyeing him for the better part of the hour. His flame-coloured hair was a mess, somewhat augmented because of its shortness.

His briefcase was on his lap, as if he was afraid of parting with it, even though he was just sitting there and doing nothing. His face had lost some of its freckles, but most of it had darkened over the years. He had a scar on his left cheek, a reminder of what had transpired many years ago. Now, here he was about to commit something for the very reason of obedience to society.

He had come for an appointment with the headmistress, Sophia Etoilé, to discuss something of great importance to the Magical Community, and to him personally. The British Minister for Magic, Percival Weasley, had ordered him to bring back one of the greatest wizards who ever lived. A tinkling of a bell sounded.

"You may come in now, Monsieur Weasley," the secretary announced, gesturing towards the golden door.

* * *

He stood up, got his briefcase in his right hand, and entered the room.

Harry Potter, former Auror for the British Ministry for Magic, former Quidditch player, once Hero-of-the-Second-Wizarding-War, and now professor of Defense against the Dark Arts in Beauxbaton, sat alone in his drab dormitory room. Since quitting drinking, he took up to playing with his Golden Snitch almost all the time to take his mind off the firewhiskey. Whenever he would be bored with his snitch, he would grab his broomstick, and fly over the school. And that was what he went out to do.

Harry jumped on to his broomstick and flew out of his window, a small smile on his lips. He was in his element, flying around really fast was what he really wanted to do. Ever since his first flying lessons, he was very skilled in flying on a broomstick, and he was more relaxed whenever he was among the clouds. He saw into every room on campus, even the dorm rooms of the students. He knows he was not allowed to, but he cannot help himself.

As he soared around the school, he saw someone walk in to the headmistress's office. It was a familiar face, and he immediately went back to his room. He needed to get away, again.

* * *

"Excusez moi?"

Ronald Weasley sighed as he set down his tea cup and saucer on the coffee table. "Headmistress," he began, "it is imperative that we escort Mister Harry James Potter back to the United Kingdom at the most immediate moment."

"And why is that, Monsieur Weasley?" the Headmistress asked, her arms crossed on her chest and her beautiful Veela face is taking on a very serious look.

Ron sighed again, "It is in the interest of the British Minister for Magic, and of your government, that Mr. Potter be returned to the United Kingdom."

"You did not answer my question, monsieur."

"Ah. The reason for this is not for you to know, madame."

"Excusez moi, monsieur, but I am the Headmistress of Beauxbaton Academie, and is thus accountable to my professors here. I must know the reason, or else I will not allow Monsieur Potter to leave my school."

Ron scratched his head, his red-hair was growing longer. He stared at the Headmistress' desk and saw the arranged stacks of paper on one side and the inkwell, quills, and fresh parchment stood on the other side. It was so organized and clean, very much unlike his desk. He misses his desk.

"Madame," Ron said, "please see reason. I implore you to release Mr. Potter into our custody, because, as I have shown to you earlier, it has already been approved by your government. Please, let us not contend it further."

Sophia Etoilé watched her guest. She had heard about this man seating in her office, that he was not someone to have a battle of wits with. Ron Weasley, has a reputation of besting some of the most brilliant witches and wizards in terms of tactical knowledge and strategy. He has won international awards in Wizard's Chess Tournaments, and yet he still exude a boyish charm.

"Still," she said, as she quietly watched her guest, "he is still my professor. And the government has no jurisdiction on my school."

He knew he needed to complete this task, and he also knew that he had to show the one thing he does not want to use. "Madam," he calmly began, as he extracted a rolled-up parchment from his briefcase. "You must release Mr. Harry James Potter to the British Aurors immediately, because he is a wanted fugitive."

"Pardonne? He is a what?"

"A criminal on the run from the Ministry for Magic."

The look on the Headmistress face was incredulous, and he knew why. Because of his brother's manipulations, the news of Harry Potter being a fugitive was hushed from the world, and no one apart from the Ministry could have known about it. He sighed, he knew he would regret ever using it.


	13. Chapter XI: The Vaudevillian

Ginerva "Ginny" Weasley was anxiously pacing around her hotel room in Paris, France. She was on tour with the Holyhead Harpies, the Quidditch squad she was Seeker for. She stopped for a while, and stared at the grainy, moving photo of the very man she had been looking for in the past eight years. She went outside on her room's balcony, and watched the Parisian Muggles go about their business in the late afternoon. She was interrupted in her thoughts with a knock on the door.

"Delivery for a Miss Weasley," a muffled voice said.

With enormous strides, Ginny crossed the room from the balcony, and opened the door. She was greeted by a dozen red roses, each flower as large as her fist. She gestured the struggling bellhop to enter, and gave him a generous tip when he had arranged the flowers in a beautiful and empty vase. There was a card on it, and she hesitated to read it.

Upon opening it, she read, "To my beautiful friend, and adorable heroine. See you on the field, E. Blunt"

Ginny frowned, she could not remember an E. Blunt. She shook her head, and tossed the card on the table with the flowers. She made her way to the sofa, on which she had thrown the Daily Prophet. She read the article again, before deciding to go to her older brother Ron. She knew he was sent here in France by the British Minister for Magic, who was also her older brother, to investigate the Prophet's claims about Harry Potter. Ginny grabbed her coat and room key, locked her door, and made her way towards the elevators.

* * *

For the first time in her life, Gabrielle Delacour was unmindful of what she looked like. As she ran in the corridors of Beauxbatons Academie, with her hair flying and uniform in disarray, people literally parted at the sight of her. She could not believe what she just heard, and she needed to warn Harry about it.

"Sorry," she said as she bumped into students and teachers alike. "Excuse me."

She rushed up the elegant marble and wood stairs, taking two steps at a time. She turned right at the second floor, and ran towards the next wing of the school.

"Oh," she exclaimed, "sorry."

She saw a first-year boy on floor amidst the flying papers and scattered books. She helped him with his things, before dashing off again after a hasty goodbye. When she came to his door, she was out of breath. She took a deep breath, fixed herself, before she knocked on the door.

* * *

Harry Potter had been whiling away his afternoon off, flying over the Quidditch pitch. He absently watched the people walking around the grounds nearby, the students in their different groups talking or studying. He remembered his time as a student in Hogwarts, talking with his friends, visiting Hagrid, avoiding Snape. It all seemed too long ago. He was happy then, laughing with Hermione and Ron. Now, all he has were memories of those times.

He flew around the Quidditch pitch, doing a few laps before he thought of going in and taking a shower. He flew towards the school building, and happened to look in through the Headmistress' office window. He saw that familiar head of red hair.

"Oh, bugger," he cursed under his breath.

He turned his broom towards his room's open window, and flew in. He grabbed his rucksack, and after doing an enlargement spell, shoved all the essential things he would need.

"Damn," he muttered. "How did they find me?"

As he grabbed a handful of his clothes, he noticed a small insect crawling underneath the pile. Its face had spots around the eyes, not unlike a pair of glasses. It scurried towards another pile of clothes, and burrowed underneath it.

"So, that's how," he said, dropping his rucksack and drawing his wand out.

With his free hand, he snatched the pile of clothes and watched the insect flew towards the open window. A spell flew from his wand's tip, and hit the insect as it cleared the window. It grew to a woman, beady-eyed and bejeweled. She clung on to the railing of the window, her high-heeled feet desperately swinging beneath her.

"Help," she called.

"Hello, Rita," Harry said, as he leaned out the window.

Rita Skeeter, a columnist and gossip-monger from the Daily Prophet, looked dishelved. Her painted fingernails dug at the wooden rail, trying to lift herself up to get inside. She tried several attempts of pulling herself up, but she could not.

"How long have you been living here?" Harry asked.

"He-help me, p-please," she pleaded, closing her eyes when she glanced down.

"How long, Rita?"

"E-eight d-d-days," she replied.

Harry opened his mouth to say something when there was a knock on his door. He turned towards the dangling woman, pulled her up, and watched as she lay panting on his floor. Another, more urgent knock came from the door, and a muffled voice calling him.

"Just a minute," he called out.

He raised his wand and pointed at Rita, "Stupefy, Petrificus Totalus."

He grabbed his rucksack, climbed on his broom, and ignored the pounding at the door. He looked at the room for the last time, and then launched himself towards the open window. He did not look back.

* * *

Gabrielle knocked on the wooden door. It was only a matter of time before the Weasley person came for Harry. She could not believe that Harry Potter, the man who defeated the Voldemort, was a fugitive of the British Ministry for Magic. She has to warn Harry, and also to find out why he was running.

She had heard a thud inside, and Harry saying "Just a minute."

She waited for a full minute before, knocking again, this time with more urgency. She even called out his name. When she got no answer, she pounded on the door. She felt hot and excited, and a bit afraid of what would happen if she did not tell him. She looked back from when she came from, no one was there. She tried to remember the password for the teachers' rooms. Since she was Head Girl, she was privy to this particular perk because she sometimes helps the teachers.

"Vaudevillian," she murmured, and the door clicked open.

Gabrielle turned the knob and opened the door. The room was in disarray, and an unconscious woman lay amidst the mess on the floor. A bejeweled pince-nez lay a few feet away, one of the lenses has cracks.

"Harry," she called. And then she saw the opened window.

* * *

Ronald Weasley stood up abruptly, and squinted. He watched as a shadow shot its way towards the sky, and it occurred to him how familiar it was.

"Bloody hell," he muttered.

"Excuse moi?" asked the Headmistress, Sophia Etoile.

"Oh, sorry," Ron said, grabbing his suitcase and dashing out of the Headmistress' office. "I have to go."

With long strides and puffing breaths, Ron managed to get to the massive front doors of the Academie in record time, leaving a wake of disarray and confusion. He immediately went towards the car he borrowed for the day, threw his briefcase in the backseats, and got out his broomstick from the trunk. He mounted it, and took off. He watched the sky for the tiny speck, and went after it.

"Harry!" he yelled at the retreating back.

The rider of the other broomstick, glanced back at him. Ron immediately recognized that lightning bolt scar, and pushed his broomstick faster. The other person did likewise, and the aerial chase was on.

* * *

Ginny made her way towards the old building looking forlornly towards the river Seine. She could not believe this was the British consulate for Magic, but she knew this was where her brother was. A small tinkling announced her arrival as she opened the door, the inside looked like a tiny cafe with two customers.

"'Allo, mademoiselle," greeted the smiling pudgy man from behind the counter. "Que puis-je vous interesser avec?"

"Ronald Weasley," she replied, her smile slightly bigger than usual.

The proprietor gestured for her to go through the door behind him. She nodded her thanks, and went inside. Two doors met her, one at each side. The left one has a sign that reads "Official Ministry Personnel" in English. She entered through there, and was greeted by a long corridor-office. Cubicles for each Minister official was set up there, and each one looked at her curiously.

"I'm looking for Ronald Weasley?" she asked.

"He's still in Beauxbatons," someone said, "something urgent, he says."

"Thank you," she replied.

As she was about to go, someone asked, "Aren't you Ginny Weasley from the Holyhead Harpies?"

With a dazzling smile, she said, "Yes," and then exited the office. She nodded to the proprietor, and went out of the cafe.

"Now, where is Beauxbatons?" she thought to herself.


End file.
